“I knew he was in search of something to prey upon when he left me so suddenly.  That Henry de Stramen should thus pursue a boy!—­fie!  It is a stain upon his manhood!”

Gilbert looked up in the speaker’s face to ascertain if he were in earnest.

“And but for that little bell, where should you be at this moment?”

“Here, Father, most likely!”

This was said so calmly and maliciously, that Father Omehr could not repress a smile.  But it quickly vanished, and left behind an expression of deep sorrow.

“And must this fatal feud last forever?” was his passionate exclamation; “are ye ever to revel in carnage, like the lion of the desert—­and shall the example of the Son of God inspire nothing but contempt for those who imitate Him?”

The missionary buried his face in his hands, and Gilbert, abashed by the solemn rebuke, kept a respectful silence.

“O Gilbert!  Gilbert!” resumed the priest, lifting his tearful eyes from the ground, “if your God submitted to insult and stripes and death to save you, can you not patiently endure for His sake a few slight injuries?”

“Our injuries are not slight,” replied the youth, “nor is the vengeance of the house of Stramen an idle threat.  They have burned the houses of our serfs, desolated our fields, butchered our kinsmen and dependants; shall we not protect ourselves, even though our resistance makes their blood run freely?  They have accused my father of a crime of which he is innocent, and have sought to visit upon him real chastisement for the imaginary murder.  Shall I stand still and tamely see them wreak their most unrighteous wrath upon my guiltless parent’s head?”

“I should be glad, my son, if you confined yourselves to mere resistance; but how often have you inflicted, within sight of this very door, the injuries of which you complain?  Could you see what I see—­the orphan’s piteous face, the widowed mother’s tear of agony—­blighted hopes and unavailing regrets—­you might pause in your fearful retaliation!”

“They have brought it on themselves,” said Gilbert, musing, “they are the aggressors.”

“Alas! be not the means by which their sins are aggravated.”

“You must address yourself to them!” returned the other.

“And have I not?  Day and night I have reasoned, implored, prayed; I have represented the folly, injustice, and impiety of their violence; I have held out to them the anger of God and the maledictions of man; I have employed art, eloquence, and reproof:  but all in vain.  Oh, what years of misery has your quarrel cost me!  Could I only live to see it healed; to see you once more living like Christian men, employed in atoning for your own sins, not in arrogantly chastising each other’s faults; to see the sword of discord broken, and peace and love and safety proclaiming the Divine efficacy of our holy religion!  We all have enough to do to vanquish ourselves, and have little time to spare in subduing others, unless we aid them in conquering their passions, and then we promote our salvation:  but your conquests only peril your eternal welfare.”